Western Waves (Compass 3)

As the waves raced over me, I begged for them to take away my anxiety and fears.

I stayed in the water for ten minutes. When I emerged, I turned toward the shore and saw Damian walking my way with a towel in his hands. I raised an eyebrow of curiosity as he grew nearby.

“Do you do this every night?” he asked me. “Walk into the water?”

“Yes. It’s kind of my thing.”

The corner of his lip twitched, and he stared down at the towel, then held it out toward me. “Figured you could use a towel.” I thanked him. He stood there with his serious eyes, and I smiled, knowing something else was on his mind.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just… I wasn’t certain if we were supposed to do this or not. Then it was skipped over at the ceremony, but…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring with a huge black crystal sitting at the center. I gasped when I saw it. He frowned. “I picked it up earlier this week. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to give it to you or not, so… here.” He shoved it into my hand and turned to walk away quickly.

I couldn’t help but smile at his nerves. It appeared I wasn’t the only one overthinking things.

“Damian, wait!” I called out.

He looked back at me with his raised brow and grumpy expression. I nodded toward him. “Thank you for this. And the towel. I’ll be honest, it feels like we are kids playing house a bit.”

“I’ve played house my whole life, in different scenarios.”

“In the foster system?” I asked. He nodded. “How many homes have you been a part of, if I may ask?”

“Too many to count.”

That made my heart ache for him. I couldn’t even imagine what that was like for him. If I didn’t have Kevin to take me in after my mother passed away, I could have ended up in the same type of situation. The more I learned about Damian, the more I was beginning to understand the hardened hummus.

He had to be tough his whole life because it probably felt as if he was being discarded so often. I’d have trust issues with people, too.

I wanted to say more, to try to learn more about him, but I knew pushing him for information wasn’t the best way to get to him. He’d clam up quickly.

Instead, I thanked him again for the towel.

“Of course.” He rubbed his hand against his shoulder blade. “Isn’t that what a husband would do for a wife?”

Yes. I supposed it is.

10

Damian

* * *

Living with Stella for the first month of November went over easier than I’d expected. On the days we weren’t forced to spend the night at the house with one another, she went off with her boyfriend, Jeff. I had yet to meet him, but she talked about him as if he was the sun and the moon in the sky. Which probably meant he was no good. Stella seemed to wear rose-colored glasses for most individuals in the world—including me.

I didn’t stay at my apartment in town when I was free to leave the property. I didn’t see the point in uprooting my life on Wednesdays and Thursdays when I’d just have to end up back where I was two days later. Even though us living together was a new arrangement, I couldn’t help but admit that it felt hauntingly silent when Stella wasn’t in the house.

Whenever she was around, it felt as if the circus was in town. Not in an annoying way—okay, maybe a little bit in an annoying way—but also in the way that Stella simply added light to the place. She was always bringing in flowers to brighten up the home, and when she was there, all the lights in the house were switched on. It was as if she feared sitting in darkness for a moment too long. Plus, she talked to herself. When doing anything. With any task, either she was talking out loud or humming a tune as she shook her hips. I was exhausted by how bubbly her mere existence was. She seemed to be one of those people who were just happy. The kind of happy that didn’t need a reason to exist. Before Connor, I didn’t know those sorts of people were real. Now, it seemed that Stella was joining him in the corner of sunshine and rainbows.

When she wasn’t in the house, though, it went back to the gray skies and thunderstorms.

I was still getting used to living with another person. I hadn’t done it in such a long time. The last time was when I was fifteen and ran away from my foster home. After that, I’d been on my own.

When you were used to living on your own and then put in a situation to live with others, you became extremely aware of your small habitual behaviors, like washing dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. Or tossing dirty clothes straight into the washer instead of into a basket. I couldn’t do that anymore because the washer was more of a community thing now.